


a body falling apart

by slackeuse



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn With Plot, ethereal!jihoon, i took the incubus thing sorta seriously, incubus!seongwoo, mostly vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:37:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slackeuse/pseuds/slackeuse
Summary: Seongwoo is an incubus who has found his latest prey.





	a body falling apart

Seongwoo finds that he never has to wait long until he finds his next meal. This time, he’s at one of the nicer bars downtown, nursing a rum and coke, when a boy—probably only just old enough to drink—steps into the empty space at his right side and catches the bartender’s attention to order a drink of his own. Usually Seongwoo just has to let his gaze linger a little longer than normal, and they’ll feel compelled to find his stares. This one doesn’t. Not at first.

“Whiskey sour,” the boy asks.

The bartender nods, grabs a rocks glass, fills it with ice and then seemingly equal parts whisky and lemon juice, mixes with some simple syrup, garnishes with a maraschino cherry and half an orange slice. The boy seems determined to watch, but then he takes a moment to check his surroundings. First, to the guy on his left who’s running his palm up and down the lean thigh of a girl who must’ve spent hours curling her hair. Second, to Seongwoo who chooses this precise moment to take a sip of his drink and glance, ever so slightly, in Jihoon’s direction.

Their eyes meet. Seongwoo is struck by how incredibly beautiful this boy is, wearing tight black pants with rips at the knees, a white shirt, a black suit jacket, a choker, blond hair parted to the side. Seongwoo smirks as he pulls his glass away from his mouth. The boy licks his lips, then turns back to the bartender as he names his price. He passes him a card.

Seongwoo isn’t sure he’ll look again. This one isn’t enthralled as others usually are. But that’s what makes Seongwoo want him to look. Look at _him_.

He does.

“Hey,” Seongwoo says. He offers the boy a hand to shake. “I’m Ong Seongwoo.”

The boy takes it, his hands soft. They shake, bow their heads, raise their eyes to meet again.

“I’m Park Jihoon. Though usually I don’t grace strangers with my name. You’re lucky you’re good looking.” He takes his card back when the bartender returns, picks up his drink, tips it toward Seongwoo. “Find me on the dance floor if you want.”

He watches Jihoon disappear into the crowd, studying his broad shoulders, his small waist, his tight ass. He does want.

So he finishes up his drink, then finds Jihoon near the DJ with a small group of guys who don’t seem to care that it doesn’t take long for Seongwoo and Jihoon to start kissing as they grind against each other to the beat. Soon after, they’re in the hallway waiting for the bathroom, sharing sloppy kisses and misplaced hands and muffled moans. Then Seongwoo has Jihoon up against the bathroom door, locking it with one hand and unzipping Jihoon with the other.

“This is not what I usually do on Friday night,” Jihoon says, breathless, as Seongwoo palms his length. He grips Seongwoo’s shoulders. “I’m making an exception.”

“Good,” Seongwoo says, pulling himself out and rubbing them together. He bites back a groan at the feeling of Jihoon’s hardness against his own, of the desire pulsing in his veins and radiating off his skin. He presses a kiss to Jihoon’s neck and whispers into his ear, “Do you want to just make an exception this once or do you want to make one all night long at my place?”

Jihoon moans, rocking his hips into Seongwoo’s. “Both.”

“I don’t believe I gave you that option.”

“But that’s the one I want.” Jihoon begins pulling down his pants, but Seongwoo stops him.

He smirks, works them down over Jihoon’s ass slowly. He wets a finger, traces it around Jihoon’s rim. He watches the way Jihoon’s Adam’s apple dips as he swallows hard. “You want to have bathroom sex, Park Jihoon?”

“I want you, hyung.” Despite his bold words, no stutter, his face is dusted with a blush and his eyes are half-lidded with lust. It makes Seongwoo want to be mean.

“Do you want me to take you in this bathroom or do you want me to take you on a bed?” Seongwoo asks again. Still, he presses in a finger slowly, allowing each ring of muscle to relax slowly around his first knuckle—a groan, eyes closing—second knuckle—a breathy whine, hands grasping for purchase. When his finger’s in until his third knuckle, he hooks it a little, searching. “Think carefully.”

Jihoon’s breath catches, and he arches against Seongwoo as a moan cuts through his throat. Seongwoo moves his finger out, then finds his prostate again. Jihoon falls into him. He expects Jihoon to beg for more. They always give in once they’ve had a taste.  

“Bed,” Jihoon demands, the word tumbling from his tongue.

For the first time, Seongwoo is the one that wants to beg for more, wants to take him right here and now, wants to forget they’re in a bathroom, wants to give in to this first taste. Seongwoo takes his finger out, cups his ass instead. “Is that your final answer?”

“Yes.” Jihoon reaches for his lips, pressing soft against soft, sliding wet against wet. His breath is hot and thin. He only parts to ask, “Is your place close?” Then he’s sucking on Seongwoo’s lower lip and his hand is on Seongwoo’s dick.

Seongwoo groans. “Thirty minutes out.”

Jihoon tugs at his wrist. “Handjob then.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

“Would you want it any other way?”

Seongwoo replaces one of his hands on Jihoon’s and matches his rhythm, up, twist, down, repeat, until Jihoon is gasping for breath into his shoulder and he can taste his desire in the air. Sweet but not cloying. A little bit of citrus but not enough to be bitter. Jihoon comes with a trembling moan, something almost as soft and ethereal as how he looks, with a note of desperation, of vulnerability, that sends Seongwoo over the edge.

“A bed,” Seongwoo says, leaning in for another kiss and begins pulling Jihoon’s pants back up. “Let’s get you to one of those so we can finish this.”

They clean up quickly, then their fingers are entwined as Seongwoo leads him out of the bar and into the back of a taxi. He texts his friends, then fits under Seongwoo’s arm. He puts a hand on Seongwoo’s thigh, so Seongwoo nibbles on his ear while watching the driver in the rearview mirror to make sure he’s not trying to get a free show. Seongwoo doesn’t do free. Everything has a cost.

When they’re at his apartment building, he pays for the ride and then leads Jihoon inside to the elevator. He presses the button for the top floor and the doors shut, then he sinks into a far corner. Jihoon follows him, hips first, hands tangling in his hair second. They kiss, languid tongues making languid movements, until they’re both hard again. The stops. The door slides open. They part, and Jihoon trails Seongwoo to his front door by two or three steps.

“Are you thirsty or anything?” Seongwoo asks as he enters his passcode.

“Some water would be nice.” Jihoon wraps his arms around Seongwoo from behind. He untucks his dress shirt from his pants. His fingers begin unbuttoning.

The door unlocks, and Seongwoo pushes open the door and steps inside. As Jihoon follows close behind, he says, “You’re saying one thing but doing another.” He puts a hand on Jihoon’s before he finishes with the last button.

Jihoon finishes unbuttoning it anyway. “Which one are you going to listen to, hyung?”

Seongwoo sighs, then he pushes Jihoon’s hand away enough so he can turn around in his arms, then Jihoon’s lips meet his. Lethargic kisses turn eager, anxious, passionate. Seongwoo loops his fingers into Jihoon’s belt loops and directs him backward toward his stairs after they both kick off their shoes. Jihoon only makes it up two before he trips backward. Seongwoo goes down with him, not allowing their mouths to part even a second.

They make quick work of each other’s clothes, getting rid of Seongwoo’s shirt first, then as Seongwoo pulls off Jihoon’s jacket, Jihoon is unbuttoning and unzipping him, yanking his pants down with his briefs just as Seongwoo is yanking up on Jihoon’s shirt.

“You said you normally don’t do this,” Seongwoo says, getting Jihoon out of his pants now. “Are you sure you want to?”

“Yes.”

“You can change your mind.” He kisses Jihoon, then presses him back onto the stairs and kisses down his chest, down the middle of his stomach, dips his tongue into his belly button. His fingers slide off his socks as he slides his lips around his tip. Jihoon moans, toes curling against Seongwoo’s palms.

“Hyung,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s begging to Seongwoo’s ears.

Seongwoo wets his fingers again, then takes him into his mouth. He wants to hear Jihoon really beg, wants to hear the desperation in his voice. He traces a pattern along the vein pulsing against his tongue, allows Jihoon the brief pleasure of reaching the back of his throat. He works in a second finger as he sucks on Jihoon’s tip, glancing up at Jihoon, who has thrown his head back to groan at the ceiling.

“Hyung,” he tries again, fisting both of his hands. He tips his head back, finds Seongwoo’s gaze as Seongwoo grazes against his prostate. He moans, body shaking. His head rolls back again. “Hyung.”

He adds a third finger and takes all of Jihoon again, lets his teeth glide against sensitive skin. Jihoon writhes, his moan reaching a higher pitch. He wraps his hand tight around Jihoon’s base. He strokes his prostate again.

“Hyung! Please—”

He pulls Jihoon out of his mouth, kisses the inside of his thigh. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. God. Fuck. Please. What do I need to say.”

Seongwoo chuckles. “I liked those three words you said earlier. Why not try them again?”

Jihoon sits up on his elbows, grabs Seongwoo’s chin and tilts it so they’re eyes are level. “I want you. Fuck me already.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Seongwoo moves between Jihoon’s legs, then picks him up so that he’s straddling his waist as he stands. He heads up the stairs to his bedroom. “Your wish is my command, Park Jihoon.”

Jihoon wraps his arms around Seongwoo’s shoulders, traces Seongwoo’s lips with his tongue until he’s dropped on the bed. Seongwoo’s dick rests against his entrance. And because getting an STD will be the least of Jihoon’s worries at the end of the night, he slides into with one shift thrust. Jihoon just moans, that mindless kind laced with desire, with pleasure, that sends a shiver up Seongwoo’s spine.

“Fuck,” he groans. Each thrust fills him up, sets fire on his skin, blazes an inferno through his bloodstream, makes him feel strong and powerful and immortal. He feels alive between Jihoon’s strong thighs. He feels awake with his body flushed pink beneath him, his hair a disheveled mess sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He feels whole when he’s inside him, stealing his life from him, killing him from the inside out.

Hands grasping at the sheets, Jihoon’s meeting his every move, rolling his hips against Seongwoo’s as though he’s getting as much strength, power, life from Seongwoo. It makes Seongwoo want to turn him around, take him from behind, press his face into the sheets so he doesn’t have to watch the light in his eyes fade away.

“H-harder,” Jihoon says, syllables caught between gasps for breath.

“Fucking hell. You’re amazing.” Seongwoo lifts Jihoon’s hips, thrusts deeper, faster, harder.

Jihoon’s gripping him, clenching around him, quivering in his grasp. He groans when he comes, enjoys that euphoric head high that tilts the room, saturates the colors and hazes the lights. It’s the high of life, of taking from another what he’ll use for a few days until he finds another. This feeling is what he loves the most, what craves the most. It’s why he doesn’t mind dealing with a cold corpse afterwards, why he doesn’t feel guilty for what he does.

Usually he just pulls out and rolls out of bed to deal with it later, but this time, he looks at the mess he made of Jihoon, come splattered up his torso, his chest, heaving for breath still when he should dead.

His flushed face watching him.

“Oh, did you think I’d be dead?” He sits up and smirks. “That’s cute. You must not feed enough if you couldn’t tell how alike we are. Do you now?”

Seongwoo does—it’s in the glitter of his eyes, the quirk of his lips. He returns that smirk. “You don’t normally do this, hm.”

“Not with other incubi,” Jihoon says. He entwines his fingers with Seongwoo’s. “Never with another. I’ve never wanted to before. You’re the exception.”

“Can I be the exception again?”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not entirely satisfied with this but it's not bad for the first pwp i've written in years. feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) or bug me on [cc](http://curiouscat.me/slackeuse).


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